


bruise pristine

by snowbrigade



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbrigade/pseuds/snowbrigade
Summary: ryuji isnt always as carefree as he seems, when akiras bruises remind him how useless he can bepost-interrogation, some spoilers





	bruise pristine

**Author's Note:**

> im embarrassed to post this especially since i literally never write fanfic but;;; im rlly weak for these boys so this is my little contribution here

Ryuji's skin felt too small for his skeleton. He wanted to scrape it away with his fingernails until his rotten red insides could breathe again. He'd gone for a quick run, but his body still vibrated with anxious energy, bugs crawling beneath his surface. He should have ran longer- wanted to run longer- run and run until his leg gave out under him and left him sprawled out on the cold ground where he belonged. Shoulders hunched, he'd pressed himself up against the wall in the subway instead, watching the trains come and leave, the waves of people ebb and flow.

  
"Ryuji? You haven't gone home?"

  
A familiar voice cut through to his core, just like the knives he wielded. Eyes darted over strangers' vague forms, landing on a face he'd recognize even with a hood casting the upper half into shadow; it wasn't too different from wearing his mask.

  
The blond forced himself to breathe. " _You_ haven't gone home?" he countered.

  
Akira tilted his head to the side and held up a plastic bag. "I was grabbing some snacks before heading back."

  
Morgana poked his head out of his bag, his teasing nothing but a small meow to the passerbys. "What's the matter, Ryuji? Did you forget how the subway works?"

  
"Shuddup, cat. You don't even ride it, Akira carries you everywhere," he said, but couldn't force much bite behind the words. "I went for a run, just got back here."

  
It had been about a half hour since they'd slipped away from the Diet building, the final keyword eluding them. It was far from a definitive defeat, but Ryuji was restless over the inability to take immediate action against Shido. He was powerless, useless, just like when Akira had been held for interrogation. He thought he'd unwound when he saw their leader come back alive, had clasped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed to confirm he was real- but now he realized the tightness never fully left his chest.

  
Akira's eyes saw right through him, Ryuji could tell. He felt stripped bare, all of his dirty, pathetic parts on display, no weakness too small to discern. Yet the other boy didn't say anything, his mouth forming its trademark, unreadable line.

  
"Think I can hang at Leblanc for a bit?" His traitorous mouth spilled out the words before the small, rational part of his brain could stop it. "I mean," he backpedaled instantly, "you can say no, I'd totally get it, man. Actually, I should probably go home, don't wanna worry my mom--"

Always a saint swooping in to save the damned, Akira cut off his rambling. "It's cool, you can come."

  
"Oh. Okay. Awesome." The coil restricting his lungs loosened by a fraction as he slipped onto the train beside his leader.

  
Smothered by the masses, Ryuji turned his head to stare out the window, gaze unfocused, the world a soft blur. An elbow into his side snapped him back to attention. He noticed Akira's faint wince as someone pushed too hard against him, against the flesh bruised by abuse hidden under his layers of clothing. Ryuji positioned himself slightly different, trying to keep his body as a buffer, for what little that was worth.

  
\--

  
Ryuji had to admit Morgana had learned pretty well when to make himself scarce, excusing himself to a walk shortly after they entered Leblanc. Most of their trip had been silent; Akira didn't think he'd ever witnessed his friend be so quiet for this long.

  
Sojiro gave them a small nod of understanding as they passed the coffee bar, with Ryuji mustering up an amicable ' _yo_ ' and a wave before disappearing up the stairs. Despite it being an attic that hardly qualified as a bedroom, he felt a wave of relaxation wash over him after the first step inside. Everything about Leblanc was beginning to feel like a second home, but up here especially put Ryuji at ease. Maybe it was the signs of Akira on everything: his school blazer left abandoned over the back of the couch, the potted plant green and thriving under his care, the collection of crane machine prize (he noted a new one, with a small inward smile), the haphazard stack of retro video games with one he brought for Akira sitting at the top.

  
"I'll be right back. I'm going to wash the make-up off." Going out in public looking like he'd been in a brawl would have drawn attention, and while there were traces of color beneath the layer of concealer, it was nothing to make someone look twice.

  
Ryuji nodded and, idly, to keep his mind from wandering to unpleasant doubts, occupied himself with Akira's things. There was the laptop he'd fixed himself, which Ryuji had thought was impressive. Akira was so talented, so _everything_ , he wondered how he could possibly measure up as a right hand man and the only answer was- he couldn't. But those were the thoughts he'd been trying to avoid, so he picked up the Jack Frost plushie, turning it over in his hands and thinking it was cute how Akira had a collection of such adorable toys.

  
He only noticed Akira had returned when his steps were right behind him, his footfalls measured and quiet from hours of sneaking around in palaces. "Making friends with Jack Frost?" he asked, causing Ryuji to sheepishly return it to its spot on the shelf.

  
"...Soda?" the black-haired boy offered suddenly, a brightly colored can held between long, delicate fingers. It could be hard to imagine those smooth hands deftly running a knife through enemies, or plucking treasures away in an instant.

  
The soda was his favorite brand. He faintly smiled at how his friend could remember something as unimportant as his beverage preference, when he was saddled with carrying so much other information in his brain. Maybe it was assuming too much, but he wondered if Akira had bought this with him in mind; it wasn't one he'd seen the other drink too much. "Thanks, man." He popped it open with a drawn out hiss. He enjoyed the can's coldness against his hand, and the fizzing carbonation in his mouth, sharp sensations that broke through the veil of anxiety. Dropping down onto the edge of the bed, he could feel more of the tension in his body begin to melt away, and god he was so glad Akira let him come over--

  
Until he glanced up, at Akira with his jacket off and his hood down, and his heart seized up in his chest. There was his charmingly messy black hair, stray ends curling up in various directions, and the thick lines of his glasses framing grey eyes he found both warm and piercing. His skin was pale, which only pronounced the purple galaxies of bruises fringed with pink and yellow. His face was an asymmetrical painting, smeared from the rough hands of another. It wasn't the first time Ryuji had seen the injuries, but they made him sick all the same. He barely controlled himself from crushing the can of soda in his hand, but he curled the fingers of his free hand tightly into his thigh.

  
"You look like hell," he said bluntly, but his tone was strained.

  
"It's not that bad," Akira responded with a noncommittal shrug, sitting nearby on the edge of the bed.

  
Ryuji set his soda on the floor and shifted in his spot so he was turned more toward him, an inch closer. Anger boiled in his stomach, and he tightened his hands into fists, nails sharply piercing his own skin. "If I got my hands on the bastards who did that, I'd make them regret ever layin' a fuckin' finger on you." His voice was low but forceful, words coming out from behind clenched teeth.

  
Akira was used to Ryuji's loud, emotional bursts of anger. He was searing heat, crashing thunder. This was quiet and chilling and he didn't doubt for a second that, given the chance, he would return all injury tenfold. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Ryuji's knee, hoping he wouldn't get too worked up. "Hey, I've gotten hurt just as bad or worse in the Metaverse. This is nothing."

  
At his touch, Ryuji's expression softened for a second, but then he defiantly shook his head. "It ain't nothin', Akira! 'Sides, it's _different_. You're Joker in there and you're fightin' shadows. Here you're...," he made vague hand gestures as he struggled for an explanation; words weren't his strength, "Akira and people keep fuckin' you over. It's so god damn unfair! You haven't deserved any of this bullshit." He reached for the hand on his knee, fumbling with the sleeve to expose the raw skin that had been encircled by handcuffs. In contrast to the anger in his voice, his thumb was gentle as it smoothed over the purplish wrist.

  
Under the stare of those wide, brown eyes, Akira was frozen. "...I'm okay, though, Ryuji," he said after a long moment of trying to find his voice. "You said it yourself, you didn't doubt I'd come back alive. And I did. Everything worked out in the end."

  
"Yeah, I knew you would. It's 'cuz you're the coolest, strongest person I know, but also like, the thought of you not comin' back? I couldn't... I couldn't deal with that, man." His voice wavered. He pulled Akira's wrist up to his mouth without thinking, kissing at the damaged flesh as if he could heal it. Akira let out a small, involuntary gasp at the feel of lips against sensitive skin. "I was so useless. I couldn't do anythin' while you were riskin' your god damn life. I'm a pathetic excuse for a right hand man." Desperately, as if he could make up for it all, he closed his eyes as he placed a needy kiss against the inside of Akira's wrist, against the mound of his thumb, against the tendons that lined the back.

  
Akira's mouth was dry. The skin where Ryuji kissed felt electrified. "I-I'm fine. It's fine. You're not useless... or pathetic. It's okay."

  
Ryuji barked out a harsh laugh. "No. I am. See? You're the one who nearly died, and I'm the one actin' all hurt." His eyes snapped open, and he jumped backwards, releasing Akira's hand. "Shit, s-sorry! I wasn't-- I wasn't thinkin'. J-Just ignore that happened."

  
"It's fine. I... I didn't mind," Akira said, pulling his hand back to his lap reluctantly. "Anyway, you need to give yourself more credit. I've relied on you a lot, you know. And... I don't think I could bear something happening to you, either."

  
"...You don't hafta be so nice to me." Ryuji looked away, settling on the corner of the bed, making himself as small and distant as he could. "I know I'm loud and annoying and just a fuckin' pain--"

  
Akira wordlessly moved in, his lips on Ryuji's before he could react. He liked the way Ryuji melted under the contact, his rough edges going soft. Ordinarily so loud, all he managed now was a small gasp, stifled as Akira kissed deeper, tasting the lingering sugar from the soda. He got the impression Ryuji wasn't used to physical contact, based off the way he jumped when Akira placed fingers on his arms, as if shocked by an electrical current. He grew loose and heavy, causing Akira to hold tighter as if he might fall away. Ryuji returned the kiss so lightly it was almost imperceptible, hands hesitantly finding the folds of Akira's clothing.

  
After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Akira broke away. He'd expected his friend to pull back long ago in alarm. Instead, he sat there in a daze, pupils dilated and mouth parted slightly, looking at Akira without quite looking at him.

  
"...Am I really so good at kissing you're speechless?" He drummed nervous fingers against the back of his neck.

  
Ryuji brought a trembling hand up to his mouth, fingertips ghosting over where there'd been contact. "You kissed me."

  
"I... yeah. Yeah, I did." Quiet shock wasn't one of the reactions he'd been anticipating. Anger or disgust had felt more likely. "I, uh.... Sorry. That was impulsive. I shouldn't have done that." He'd thought actions would speak to Ryuji better than words, but now he felt like his friend was a toy he'd accidentally broken.

  
"...H-Huh. I thought you had someone already? A thing for Makoto? Or. Or that shogi girl. All those times you went. To church. Or maybe Futaba? But, but... you kissed me?" Fragmented speech, jittery eyes that couldn't meet his. The kiss had short-circuited a wire in his brain. He could still feel it on his lips, burned into his skin like a scar.

  
" _What?_ We're just friends, and Futaba is more like a little sister than anything." He wasn't expecting that line of questioning, of all things. He didn't realize his friend saw him like some sort of casanova- did he give off that vibe?

  
"Oh. Okay. I didn't wanna be a homewrecker or nothin'."

  
Akira's mouth lifted into an amused smile. "Ryuji, I was the one who kissed you," he pointed out.

  
"Yeah, but.... What was that anyway, man? A pity kiss? You didn't need to do that." Ryuji was glancing off to the side again as if fascinated by a stain on the wall. His limbs pulled in close to his core; for someone with a loud presence, he was good at taking up as little space as possible. The visible quarter of his face was tinged red without any indication of returning to normal soon.

  
The assumption it was a pity kiss twisted a knife in Akira's gut. He reached out to grab Ryuji by the shoulders, pulling him back toward him and, maybe against better judgement, kissing him again. Ryuji squeezed his eyes shut; his head felt light, mind was reeling, thought he might pass out. He couldn't do anything but sit there stunned until the black-haired boy pulled back by a millimeter, not connected but close enough they were sharing the same breath. "If it was a pity kiss, would I do it twice?" Not waiting for an answer, he pressed their mouths together again, as if it was painful to be apart.

  
"A third time?" When he pulled away, Ryuji followed forward, taking a shaky breath before kissing him repeatedly, gingerly. Akira raked his hands down his sides, relishing each soft gasp he received in return, the way his body twitched, but then leaned greedily into the touch. Ryuji broke the kiss for a moment, and Akira couldn't help but stare at the sight of the blond's face burning red, eye's half-lidded and hazy- a look of dizzy intoxication, where Akira was his drug of choice- as he took short, staccato breaths.

  
" _Akira,_ " he sighed out, settling his lips in the corner of Akira's mouth, where it was pink and swollen, from a fist, maybe, or the hard floor of the interrogation room. He was thankful Akira was brief in talking about the interrogation, because his mind effortlessly filled the gaps, no imagination required. Memories bubbled involuntarily to the surface of his mind.

  
Helplessly watching his father back his mother into a corner, alcohol reeking from his pores, his hands hard knuckles and rough palms. Watching Kamoshida vent his frustrations on the runners on the track team until they collapsed into husks. He surged forward again, desperately brushing his lips to the bruise that contoured his cheekbone, following the discoloration up to his eyelid. Akira closed his eyes, dark lashes fluttering. "God, Akira." He'd never heard Ryuji's voice so quiet, a whisper against his skin that made him shudder. "I'll tear apart anyone who tries to do somethin' like that to you again. I swear I will, Akira. I swear." He said his name with religious adoration, peppering words like a prayer against his bruises between his fervent kisses.

  
Ryuji knew what it was like meeting the fists of an adult. Begging his father to hit him instead, curling up protectively once he'd obliged. He'd have taken every blow for his mother if he could. He would take all of Akira's pain upon himself if he could.

  
"It's okay, Ryuji. It's okay," Akira said in a small voice, overwhelmed with each touch. Ryuji was as gentle with him as he was as merciless with enemies, the same hands that bludgeoned shadows into vapor treating him like irreplaceable chinaware. "I know." He didn't know what else to stay. Instead, he tightly gripped Ryuji's shoulders, pulling him down as he sunk backwards onto his bed.

  
The blond went silent, curled on his side with Akira on his back beside him. He could feel the heat of Ryuji's blush as he buried his face into his neck. Idly, he let his spindly fingers ruffle the bleached tufts of hair, as Ryuji let one arm rest loosely across his stomach.

  
"I'm glad you asked to come over." He felt like he was melting, wedged in a heavenly spot between his mattress and Ryuji's body. "I'm glad you're here."

  
"Me too," came the mumbled response tickling his neck.

  
Akira closed his eyes. The faint mutter of customers and the television downstairs became soothing white noise. Shifting his hand toward Ryuji's neck, he could feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. He could lose himself in this warmth, feeling his muscles unwind, brain quiet. On the cusp of falling asleep, he almost missed the question delicately spoken into his skin.

  
"Why'd you kiss me if it wasn't pity?"

  
"Mm, I dunno." He traced lazy circles across Ryuji's broad back. "I guess... when I was down in the interrogation room, I thought, I can't die, not when I haven't even kissed Ryuji yet."

  
His face was too red, his heartbeat too strong in his chest, his body too flooded with feeling, that Ryuji wasn't sure he could face Akira anytime soon. "D-Don't mess with me like that."

  
"I'm not. I'd never." He hoped one day Ryuji would believe all the nice things he had to say about him, would just need to keep trying until then. He kissed the top of his blond head. "...Don't leave my side, alright?"

  
"Wasn't plannin' on it," he answered after a long moment of silence, so reserved, so shyly mumbled Akira almost thought he imagined it for a second, but the way the arm around his torso tightened protectively confirmed the reply.

  
Akira hummed gently in response, an arm nestled under Ryuji and another wrapped around. All the tightness had left his body, Ryuji realized suddenly, turned liquid within the other's hold, relaxed against the curve of his side like a perfectly slotted jigsaw piece. He listened until Akira's breath evened out and body went limp, vulnerable, and moved a hand to his chest, feeling the vibrations of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> i know i wanted some proper reaction to akira getting all beat up from interrogation so if the game didnt do it, i needed to do it myself i guess. thanks for reading!!!


End file.
